After the Ashes
by Ryoko45
Summary: Dark fic about the undeniable power of love and obsession. Just how far could it take them? B/S Post Chosen. Inspired by Possession by Sara McLachlan. (CH #7 IS FINAL CHAPTER!)
1. Listen Buffy

DISCLAIMER: JOSS owns all rights regarding all Buffy characters. Sara McLachlan owns all rights regarding Possession and it's lyrics. I own nothing but an overactive imagination and an undeniable need to share my crazy thoughts with others.  
  
**Listen as the wind blows from across the great divide, Voices trapped in yearning, memories trapped in time,**  
  
She wasn't sure why she had come back. Back to the collapsed building. Back to the swirling dust and biting sun that whispered of his death. Buffy stood looking into the destruction below her. Some memorial.  
  
"Out with a bang," she said dryly, "You would have wanted that."  
  
Then she laughed. It was a hollow sound rattling in the back of her throat. The chuckle shuddered into silence as she frowned. Even now she laughed at him. Even after this, she treated him like a joke.  
  
More than a thing, less than a man. Wasn't that what he always was to her?  
  
A wave of nausea made her stumble, sending her trembling hand to cover her mouth. Her salty palm pressed into her lips, holding back the mewling whimper that threatened to cry out into the quiet.  
  
"No you don't, but thanks for saying it," his voice echoed in her mind. And he was right, wasn't he? She hadn't loved him. She just couldn't. Buffy forced a quick nod, to accept what she knew just had to be the truth. No matter how horribly her heart ached in disagreement.  
  
There was too much pain between them. Too many bad memories. Spike was a creature of the night. Even with his soul, there was darkness in him. There was darkness in her, too, but unlike her, he wasn't afraid of his. What they had together was chemistry and history, not love. And now it didn't matter.  
  
Still, her stomach twisted in knots as she stared at where he had been. Still, the feel of his cold skin burned on her fingertips and the memory of his eyes haunted her mind. And still, her eyes spilled over with hot tears, tears that dripped from her chin to spiral silently downward to his grave.  
  
He was really gone this time.  
  
Silently, Buffy lowered her hand and closed her eyes, accepting the pain that she had so tightly furled within her since that day. She pictured him in her mind, his arrogant smirk laced over gentle eyes. God, she missed him. Darkness and all. And then she said the only thing she could, the only thing she felt would make any sense for him at all.  
  
"One of us is living..." 


	2. The Night Spike

DISCLAIMER: JOSS owns all rights regarding all Buffy characters. Sara McLachlan owns all rights regarding Possession and its lyrics. I own nothing but an overactive imagination and an undeniable need to share my crazy thoughts with others.  
  
The night is my companion and solitude my guide, Would I spend forever here and not be satisfied?  
  
Even in death he could not escape her. The light had burned him through, searing his body, changing him from flesh into ash. And the pain had been blinding, it's bitter fire coursing through every part of him until the parts were gone, turned to dust. In that final moment, the agony had been unbearable, but as his scream gurgled into smoke, the pain vanished, and a new force emerged. A power, raw and pure pulled something in him through the ashes, through the light and fire.  
  
After that, there had only been the silence. Emptiness surrounded him in great black waves, pulsing against his fading memories, lulling him to sleep. And oh, how he wished to sleep. There was no more pain, no more hunger, no more guilt, no more of anything. It was all gone. Vanished in the light, swept away with the powdery remains of his body.  
  
Peace called to him, but some small spark within him hesitated, longing for his flesh, longing for form. Spark. Something he had left behind. Someone. No spark. Yes, he had said that once. Said that to her.  
  
Her.  
  
In a rush, his thoughts became stronger, and they searched for her. She lived. He somehow knew that. He could feel it in the bones he no longer had. Her image returned to him in a blur of gold. He remembered. Somewhere she breathed and walked and brushed her soft hair. He could still feel the silken strands of that golden hair against him. He could still imagine his body, cool and firm around the soft warmth of her.  
  
Rest seemed futile now. Peace was nothing but a lie. This place held no perfection for him. It held no rest. She was the one who brought him peace. She was his redemption. Only with her. Only with Buffy.  
  
Buffy. Her name flooded through his mind. He would have spoken it if he had a body, if he had even a voice. Instead his thoughts circled the name, repeating it over and over. It was a mantra, a mantra of who he had once been. What he couldn't let go of.  
  
"Rest," a soundless voice urged, "Sleep......rest....forget"  
  
But he didn't want rest now. Who was that speaking into his mind? There was no sound here. No sight, no taste, no touch. It was death. Still and black it lapped around his memories. But still the voice had come, silently creeping into his thoughts, covering her name with its suggestion.  
  
The urge to drift lazily into the darkness was strong. It pulled at him like the smell of blood once had. But relenting had never been his specialty. So, he fought with the only weapon he had left, his mind.  
  
He conjured the image of her face again. So gorgeous. He could see the shifting specks of green in her eyes and the uncertainty in her lips when she would smile at him.  
  
"Sleep...." the silence pleaded, blurring the edges of her image.  
  
Spike roared against it, his mind darting like a nervous, angry thing. No peace! No rest! Fury swelled within him. The fists of his consciousness pounded against the soft boundaries of this place, clawing for escape, clawing for chaos. Chaos was better. Hell was better. Anything was better. With her. Always with her.  
  
A sliver of displeasure appeared in the blackness, responding to his own anger. He felt the uncertainty, the irritation like a current in the air. His thoughts could almost taste it and it made him feel powerful.  
  
"Rest," the voice murmured again, but this time less patiently. It was more command, less invitation, pushing powerfully against him.  
  
A smirk curved in the eye of his mind as he fought with all his might, all his soul. He thought of agony, of rebellion. His consciousness kicked against the calm and against his instincts to relent. Spike sent anxiety, fury and insanity billowing through the ripples of emptiness. If only he had feet to kick and fangs to bite. But there would be no use. He could only use the power of his thought, the feelings burning like fires in his soul.  
  
Vaguely, he remembered time. It meant nothing here and even there had meant little to him. But for her it was a powerful force, ruling her steps and marking her days. And he somehow knew it was slipping past him, though he could not imagine how quickly. His raging accelerated to frenzy.  
  
"No rest for the wicked!" his thoughts screamed though he wasn't really sure if he was wicked anymore. He wasn't sure of much of anything. Except Buffy.  
  
Around him, the displeasure grew, pulsing and churning into anger. It twitched and sizzled, and each new level of its strength only fortified his resolve. Her face was brighter now in his mind, and it made him fight all the harder. It wasn't difficult anymore. His instincts were fading, and she was taking over.  
  
"No peace, no calm, no rest," his thoughts pounded relentlessly as he struggled to regain the scattered pieces of his memory. His Sire. Chains in a bathtub. Sunnydale. Red. The Magic Box. Cards on a table. The Watcher. Dru's insanity. Cigarettes. England. A stake in his fist. The thoughts raced together clicking into their respective places. But they were all punctuated with her. Her eyes. Her laugh. Her voice. Her strength. Her hands. Over and over she came to him.  
  
His frenetic efforts were an endless loop of energy, until suddenly the loop was broken. The atmosphere around him slowly chilled and the dark serene womb ripped open to expose him to the stark terror of death. There was a sudden rushing all around him. A bitter hitch of rejection sliced through the air. Rebellion. But not his rebellion. Something else. The voice again.  
  
"Leave this place," the voice said bitterly.  
  
When he at last felt the sharp sting of pain, he was strangely grateful. His soul curled around the sensation, holding onto the world he had left behind. Holding on to her. And then at once, it all came back. Air rushing through his hair, stinging his eyes. Yes, eyes! His suddenly reformed body was hurtling downward. Every part of him screamed in agony and the sound of the pain escaped his lips in a strangled bloody cry. But it was lost in the wind, and still Spike fell.  
  
He drifted in and out of consciousness before waking to realize he was no longer falling. He felt the earth, solid and wet beneath his naked flesh. He smelled blood, oozing from a thousand cuts and scrapes that covered his skin. Above him a stinging rain sprayed his back in cold rattling bullets. His body's needs returned to their rightful throne and he felt all the needs of hunger and comfort at once, blinding him with their demands, their intensity. Spike tasted fear and remnants of his own death and both were bitter on his tongue.  
  
After long minutes of reeling, he lifted his head until his blue eyes pierced just above the mud pooling beneath him. His vision was blurred by the flurry of images around him. His ears rung from the assault of noise in the air. Everything overwhelmed his weak body. Weak, indeed, but it was a body again. The same as it was before. And with his agonized body, he recognized a now familiar sting beneath his ribs. Mud dripped over his cheeks as a smirk curved his lips.  
  
He had cheated his second death. And he still had his soul.  
  
TBC 


	3. Stumbled Buffy

DISCLAIMER: JOSS owns all rights regarding all Buffy characters. Sara McLachlan owns all rights regarding Possession and its lyrics. I own nothing but an overactive imagination and an undeniable need to share my crazy thoughts with others.  
  
Wow! I got some reviews. It really does bolster the ego, so thank you very much. Now, beware when reading this chapter, you might get a little concerned about my intentions. But have faith, I am entirely loyal to the presence of Spuffy and this fiction will not let you down in the end. :o)  
  
Through this world I've stumbled so many times betrayed, Trying to find an honest word, to find the truth enslaved,  
  
Buffy gasped and sat up in the bed, her mind instantly alert, her heart pounding. The sheets pooled around her thighs in a white blur while moonlight traced blue shadows on her shivering body. With a heavy sigh, she lowered her head to the pillow. A peal of thunder groaned softly overhead and her tiny hand reached across the empty bed, fingers curling into the cool sheets.  
  
He had come again, alive in her dreams, real in the sanctuary of her sleep. She could still hear his voice, could still see his lips forming her name. She could taste those lips too, from what seemed like a thousand years ago. They tasted of fire and passion and something much softer that she never dared to consider before. And his arms, she felt them too, cool and firm around her. He would never let go until she pushed. Except now he had. And he would always reach for her again. Except now he couldn't.  
  
But, she was the reason. The reason he would never curl his beautiful lips in a smirk. The reason he would never eat hot wings or run his long white fingers through his even whiter hair. Lightning slashed outside the windows, illuminating the room for an instant.  
  
"Why?" she breathed, knowing the answer, feeling it burn her with shame.  
  
For her, of course. The moment she handed him the amulet, he had known. Maybe she had been too stupid to see the truth, but when his fingers wrapped around that necklace, he accepted her offer and his own death. And he never hesitated. Because he knew she needed him.  
  
"It wasn't love," she whispered aloud, though a tear raced down her temple to deny the claim she had voiced a hundred times in the last three months. Three months. How could three months feel so long?  
  
Another groan of the storm rumbled in the sky above sending a pattering of rain across the rooftop. She rolled her head to the side to look out the large windows in the room. They looked out over a vast expanse of Los Angelescity life. And somewhere miles beyond those glittering city lights was the road to Sunnydale. It would have already rained tonight in Sunnydale. Sunnyhell.  
  
She smiled, remembering his nicknames. Remembering his accent. Remembering the way he tapped his fingers and twitched his legs, always moving, always bristling with raw energy. She could still see the amber glow of his cigarette tip as he leaned against her tree. Always watching her.  
  
His presence had been like the moon each night. She never considered it necessary. She rarely considered it at all. Now she had to consider her life without it. Without Spike.  
  
The door to the bedroom creaked open and she roughly swiped the remaining wetness from her face before looking to the door. She couldn't pretend to sleep. He would know by her heartbeat that she was awake.  
  
"Did the storm wake you?" Angel asked, approaching the bed and sliding beneath the sheets quietly.  
  
She turned her back to him, resisting the urge to stiffen her spine when his arms encircled her.  
  
"No," she said, "A dream did."  
  
His arms squeezed her reassuringly. It was always like that with him. So easy. His broad shoulders and kind voice always ready to soothe. His eyes were impossibly warm, his hands always tender on her. He was everything she had wished for. He was her first love, the light of her youth.  
  
"I'm sorry. Was it frightening?"  
  
But she missed the darkness.  
  
"No," she said firmly as the ache in her grew, "it was a good dream." 


	4. Riddles Spike

DISCLAIMER: JOSS owns all rights regarding all Buffy characters. Sara McLachlan owns all rights regarding Possession and its lyrics. I own nothing but an overactive imagination and an undeniable need to share my crazy thoughts with others.  
  
Thanks for the reviews. They are tremendously encouraging and make me want to continue faster. I think I might post two chapters today since I actually have people reading it! This fic actually isn't too long, so you won't have more than a few more chapters to go to get this mess sorted out....in a good way. :o)  
  
Oh you speak to me in riddles and you speak to me in rhyme My body aches to breathe your breath, you words keep me alive,  
  
Had she meant it? Spike didn't want to dwell on it. He couldn't then. He shouldn't now. In the cavern, he had dismissed the words almost as quickly as she had said them. But that was for her, of course. By the time she said it, he knew he was as good as dust. He also knew the kind of misery she'd feel if she honestly believed she loved him at that last possible minute. She'd had enough misery. So, he denied it. Shamefully whipped, he knew.  
  
But that was then. Things were different now, and he wanted an answer.  
  
His feet slapped against the ground in a pair of muddy work boots. He had to steal clothing. It was difficult to make money of any sort when you were both naked and virtually in the middle of nowhere. He'd also had to kill a pig on the same farm where he retrieved his clothes. It took almost all of the blood from that creature to satiate his thirst. It was just a bloody pig and some clothes, but he felt guilty. Stupid sodding soul.  
  
Then again, he also felt stronger, so the guilt was bearable.  
  
He tugged at the navy shirt he had plucked off the clothesline. The clothes were still damp from the previous night's rain, but the jeans fit, as did the boots he found by the door. The shirt was a bit tight, but he was in no position to complain.  
  
So, instead his mind wandered and as it always did, it curving along a neat little path directly to her. So, had she meant it? Was it more pity? Why had she come back to him after Peaches had returned anyway? Why had she spent that last night in his arms instead of Angel's?  
  
He rubbed his hands together, tired of the tingle on his palms when he thought of her smooth skin or her narrow shoulders. Tired of the memory of her breath, tickling the skin of his arms as she slept. Tired of the warm play of her fingers across his palm that haunted him from that last night. He was tired of memories period.  
  
At least he knew where he was going. Where did he always go? To her. Always to her. Her draw was stronger than reason, stronger than bloodlust. Hell, it was stronger than death.  
  
His feet moved north, following the highway that led to Los Angeles. Spike knew where to find her. Knew that she would be nestled even now in a big bed at the very top floor of the Hyperion. Right now that golden hair was probably sliding over his Sire's arms.  
  
His jaw clenched, an angry white line above the collar of his shirt. At least she would be safe. Safe, alive and breathing. What else could he want? Sure, he knew she'd say something insane when she saw him. She'd be confused, maybe afraid, maybe even disappointed. The look on her face would probably crush him and make him want to die all over again. But then again, the image of her face made him want to live again in the first place. The whole damn thing was a contradiction, always had been.  
  
A smirk deepened the hollows beneath his cheekbones. When he did ask her about that moment in the cave, she'd deny it or tell him it was pity. She'd cross her arms, maybe roll her eyes and flip her bleedin' hair while she explained it all away. She'd let him live, of course. He had that precious soul that made him more than a thing, maybe almost a man, but still less than what she wanted. But that's what it was, wasn't it?  
  
Then again, right now it would be enough. Rejection was fine, even expected. Cruel truth would be par for the course. He closed his eyes and sucked in the heavy air around him. Hell, just to breathe her in would be enough. 


	5. The Path I Fear Buffy

DISCLAIMER: JOSS owns all rights regarding all Buffy characters. Sara McLachlan owns all rights regarding Possession and its lyrics. I own nothing but an overactive imagination and an undeniable need to share my crazy thoughts with others.  
  
Here's a bonus chapter since it's Monday and nobody wants to work or deal with school anyways. Reviews are lovely and so very much appreciated. ;o)  
  
Into this night I wander, it's morning that I dread, Another day of knowing of the path I fear to tread,  
  
Buffy's fingers pressed against the great wall of windows in her room. In their room. Below her the city moved from day to night, lights flickering on, shops closing, and no doubt demons emerging.  
  
A few stars winked in the smoggy black sky. Buffy missed seeing real stars. Missed nights spent walking under them with a stake in her fist and a friend at her side.  
  
Friend? No, that wasn't right. It wasn't enough for him. And yet, even that had been too much for her to admit before, hadn't it?  
  
There was a quiet in her sadness now that scared her. An acceptance that allowed the pain to soak into her bones. For more than three months, she had warred against her memories. She fought the vulnerable whispers in her heart, fought the haunting reminders of his life, and more than anything, fought to recapture the all-consuming love she had once felt for Angel. And it was still there. But so was Spike, teasing her with his pale beauty, challenging her former resolve.  
  
It had been much worse lately. Something happened that night it stormed, that night Angel had almost caught her crying. The rain that pounded against those tall windows seemed to wash all the fight out of her. In the few days since, he was clearer in her mind than he ever had been. His voice was just outside of the room, his face just behind her own reflection. Though his death moved further away, it seemed he moved closer.  
  
Buffy turned to the bed, leaving the city and its night behind her. She re- folded a pair of Angel's pants and put them in the closet. It was unlike him to leave them. Unlike him to leave a mess at all. But tonight he had been called to patrol early. And he had left her here because she wasn't the Slayer anymore. She was supposed to be normal.  
  
Normal. Buffy chuckled hollowly.  
  
She couldn't pretend to be what she wasn't. And as sure as she still tingled when a vampire came near her, she was not normal. She looked at the spotless room resenting the stark cleanliness of this place. She secretly longed for an ancient TV and an array of mismatched candles. Her hands itched to clamp around a stake. Her ears strained to hear the throbbing beat of music at The Bronze. But above it all she craved the sound of his laughter and the sight of his body, all those lean, long lines moving in that predatory way that was uniquely and singularly Spike.  
  
She loved Angel. Always had. But she longed for Spike. And something in her told her she always would.  
  
"Why do you still feel so close?" she sobbed aloud, sinking to the floor with her back to the window.  
  
After a long while, she shook away the memories of cigarette smoke and the sound of his creaking duster when he'd settle into a chair. After a longer while, she rose from the floor and dressed in a nightshirt to climb into the huge bed. And then, after time beat out what seemed like a thousand lonely heartbeats in her mind, she fell asleep. 


	6. Waking Dreams

DISCLAIMER: JOSS owns all rights regarding all Buffy characters. Sara McLachlan owns all rights regarding Possession and its lyrics. I own nothing but an overactive imagination and an undeniable need to share my crazy thoughts with others.  
  
At long last, someone has arrived at a certain hotel.....and no folks, it isn't the brooder... ;o) Only one chapter left, almost there. :o) Please R&R....it's the best encouragement possible.  
  
Oh into the sea of waking dreams I follow without pride, Nothing stands between us here and I won't be denied  
  
He reached the end of the hall and hesitated at the brass handled door. It had been a long slow climb through shadowy stairwells and suffocating air ducts. Even before that, it had taken the entire previous night to get some normal clothes and to figure out for sure that the poof took the top floor for his residence. But now, it all seemed like it had happened too quickly. He had been back for a week, but he felt awkward and weak in his body again, as if he had just woken up beneath that brutal sheet of rain.  
  
The light on the door was green, unlocked. Spike clenched his hands twice, bobbing a little on his heels they way he sometimes did before a fight. His hand reached for the handle of the door, the pads of his fingers just resting on the cool smooth surface of the brass.  
  
Spike could feel her already. He could smell her through the door and it made his fingers rattle against the handle. God, he was a stupid git. He took a breath that he didn't need and removed his hand to run it through his hair. What if he was here? Impossible. He would have felt Angel as surely as he could feel her.  
  
Now he was just stalling. He replaced his hand, scowling at it with a menacing dare to stay put. Irritated with his hesitation, he pushed it open with little aplomb and stepped inside. It was dark in the room, save the city lights twinkling beyond the windows.  
  
"Angel?" came her voice, and though she spoke his name, Spike thought his knees would give way just then. Her voice, her breath, her movements rustling against those pale, pale sheets. Her scent was so sweet and strong it threatened to knock him down.  
  
"No," he breathed, shamed by the weakness in his voice. He moved closer to the bed on stumbling feet, where Buffy wrestled from the piles of white, sitting up with wide eyes and sleep mussed hair.  
  
His throat caught at the sight of her, all warm and soft beneath those covers. Something very much alive rushed beneath his cold skin as she exhaled. With self-restraint he did not believe he was capable of, he waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. But, before they could, she was looking eagerly into the shadows that hid him.  
  
"Say my name," she said, crawling to the foot of the bed. He was only ten feet from her, but though he could see her perfectly, he knew her eyes were not so strong in the darkness. She couldn't recognize him from this distance. Yet her gaze shifted as if she suspected something.  
  
Suddenly he was afraid. Afraid to say her name, for then she would know. And perhaps toss him from the room, or say something smug. Or worse, she'd be afraid of him. And then he really would die. Her wrath, her disinterest, even her hatred he could suffer, but he could never bear her fear again.  
  
He didn't want her to make him leave either. Not now. Not when his whole body finally felt whole again just from the sight of her. Not when he felt like heaven had fallen down around him in this room, in the smell of her hair.  
  
There was a pleading softness in her eyes that he could not reject. As always, he was bleedin' powerless beneath that hazel stare.  
  
He closed his eyes and sighed, "Buffy."  
  
"Oh my God," she croaked. For one instant, she hesitated, her lungs sucking in a greedy gasp of air. Then she scrambled off the bed in a flurry of limbs and fabric.  
  
Before her heart had beat twice, she was before him. He kept his eyes on her feet, her beautiful golden toes, until he felt her breath on his cheek. His whole body tensed for an attack, but his eyes stayed rooted to those perfect feet of hers.  
  
"Easy, luv, I couldn't bear it," he thought as she stood so still in front of him. He finally raised his head, aggravated to feel tears slip over his cheeks. But she was crying, too. Crying and looking at him through heavy- lidded eyes.  
  
"Dream," she said numbly, her hands twisting nervously in front of her, her eyes tightly shutting then opening to him again. She almost shouted, "Wake up!"  
  
"I'm awake," he said coolly, confused by her agitation, hurt by the strange greeting.  
  
Her eyes closed again and edged back just an inch or two, "No, I can't do this anymore," she pleaded and he felt a knife of pain like none he'd ever known jerk through his middle, "no more dreams."  
  
Her little body was shaking in the giant shirt that she wore. His body was screaming to touch her, but she didn't want him. She couldn't do this anymore, she said. Then it hit him. Her blurry eyes and cryptic words. She thought she was dreaming. His hand reached for her slowly and a shockwave shuddered through his spine when his fingertips grazed the top of her arm.  
  
"You're awake too, luv."  
  
He was there. She knew that. She could smell him. She could see the beautiful angles of his cheekbones. She could taste the cigarette smoke that clung to him. But when he spoke to her, in that rolling accent that made her bones go soft, she knew this wasn't a dream. Spike was alive. 


	7. Take Your Breath Away

DISCLAIMER: JOSS owns all rights regarding all Buffy characters. Sara McLachlan owns all rights regarding Possession and its lyrics. I own nothing but an overactive imagination and an undeniable need to share my crazy thoughts with others.  
  
Well, folks this is it. I didn't want to make this one too long since it was my first effort on Buffy. If you really liked it, please review! I have lots of other fics in my brain, but I also have the typical self- loathing writer's complex that makes me hesitant to put stuff out there for everyone to see! I just don't want to bore everyone to pieces! Thanks so much for your very kind reviews so far. It's been a tremendous help to me!! Just to warn you, this is the chapter that required the R rating. There is bloodplay, so if that's not your bag....beware! Spuffy forever....let fan fic rule. :o)  
  
And I would be the one to hold you down, kiss you so hard, I'll take your breath away and after I'd wipe away the tears, Just close your eyes dear  
  
The air between them crackled with energy. Buffy took little panting breaths. She was locked in place, her hands now clenched tightly at her sides. Spike was frozen as well, afraid to take a step, afraid to remain still. The only thing that moved between them was their tears, tracking relentlessly down their faces as they stared at each other with a mix of wonder and disbelief. The seconds ticked painfully by while they waited. Waited for something to happen. Waited for someone to move.  
  
With a tiny gasp, Buffy caved first. She lunged for him, tackling him in an awkward embrace. Her knees gave way as her arms wrapped around his neck, her face nuzzling into his chest. His pulled her closer with a tightness that made her heart sing. Together, they clicked into place as if they had never left the other's arms.  
  
"God, Buffy," he sighed at last, his body filling with her warmth and life as she sobbed into his shoulder, her tears seeping through the thin cotton shirt. He could feel the damp heat of her tears on his skin now and in combination with everything else, it sent him over the edge. He had meant to be irritated with her for being here, for being with him. He wanted to be smug, cool, indifferent. But he couldn't be. Not with her all tucked in his arms, weeping into his chest. Because she wanted him there, really wanted him. Even if it was just for this moment.  
  
"Spike," she breathed between sobs, lifting her wet face to him, "How? How are you here?" Her hands, shaking as badly as his own, moved to his face, tracing fiery paths over his wet cheeks.  
  
"I didn't quite fit in there," he said with a smirk, smoothing her hair and kissing her forehead.  
  
She pulled away from his lips and a chasm of cold pain instantly split through him. Rejection. But it was not what he thought. His eyes widened in shock when her fingers laced behind his neck. She pulled his head down, bending him to her lips with determination that could not be ignored.  
  
Their lips met as they had in the past, only this time tears mingled with the heat and the frenzy of the kiss. There was no transition from chaste to passionate. As it always was, the kiss was like fire, hungry and powerful. When their mouths connected, their tongues met in a familiar dance. Together they tasted one another, angling their mouths simultaneously to afford them better access. It was instinct.  
  
Their bodies melded without thought or force. Buffy's hands trailed down his chest pulling up the sides of his shirt at his waist. He growled at her touch on his cool stomach, his own hands tangling in her hair, then moving impatiently to press into her hips, pulling her tightly against him. He wanted to touch her everywhere at once, wanted to feel her with every inch of himself.  
  
Her thighs ground against his in an age-old rhythm they knew too well. It was easy for them. This part had always been so easy. He picked her up and moaned at the little whimper in her throat as her legs instinctively wrapped around him. Now he could feel the core of her heat pressed up against him, only a thin pair of satin panties and his jeans remained between them. She was so hot and Cor, she smelled so good. Like sex and life and all things feminine, all things Buffy. Spike sank to the white bed where he had found her, his hands moving under her bottom, sliding under the shirt to seek the heat of her skin. Buffy pulled away from his mouth only long enough to let out a long low mewl. Spike's mouth dropped open at the noise, his senses in overdrive. He fingers curled into the perfect lines of his stomach while his slid away from her bottom, trailing icy lines over her thighs until his fingers were tickling the edge of her panties. She returned to his mouth, both of them moaning into one another.  
  
Spike was dizzy, he couldn't remember what he had meant to say or why the bloody hell he had waited so long at that door. He couldn't remember or think of anything but her. God she felt so good. Felt like a thousands years of torment would be worth it. He'd die twice more just to have this moment. Her panting breath all around him, her wanting him, needing him. It was more than it had ever been before. Even he could feel that. There was heart in this, maybe even love.  
  
A bitter tickle crept into his mind. Maybe not. Maybe he was still the same moon-eyed poofter he was before.  
  
"Wait," he said, wanting her to do anything but wait. But even still, fear ticked inside his chest, rattling like a once beating heart.  
  
She looked into his eyes and saw the fear swirling in that beautiful azure gaze. With her forehead pressed against his, and her breath coming in ragged gasps, her heavy-lidded eyes waited impatiently for him to allow her to continue.  
  
She didn't want to talk. He could see that now. Did she ever want to talk to him? Did she even like him? His own words from what seemed like an eternity ago echoed into his mind. And with a rush, he suddenly remembered where he was. Whose bed he was sitting on with this golden girl.  
  
"Angel..." he said.  
  
Her fingers twitched against his stomach, and something very cold and dull began to replace the heat of their passion on his skin. Her eyes caught his uncertainly "I know," she whimpered, her teeth seeking her bottom lip, to nibble it uncertainly, "I know this is all messed up."  
  
"I can't do this all over again, luv," he said softly, hating himself for saying it, hating himself more because it was true. His love got stronger every time he looked at her, every time she sighed or said his name. The thought of her walking away again was worse than anything, worse than death. And now he had invited her to do it.  
  
She sighed heavily, her eyes welling up again, "What have I done to you?" she whispered. "Why do you always come back to me?"  
  
He knew his eyes answered her question so he said nothing. He remained silent, fear moving like a blade of ice over him as he waited for her response. Waited for the blow he had come for.  
  
"I know you hate to think that Angel's always had my heart. I know that's probably torn you up in ways I never think about. But, Spike, I couldn't help that. I mean, he was my first love, my supposed soulmate."  
  
Spike's eyes betrayed his anguish. If he had seen anything wooden and remotely sharp, he would have dusted himself to avoid any more of this. This kind of cruelty was beyond what he could take anymore. Her throat tightened as she watched his jaw clench and his eyes turn to flint. She understood his resolve not to cry, not to weaken in front of her. But this time he didn't need to fight it. Not once he understood her. She shook her tear stained face and continued with a lopsided smile, "Angel was always the guy I wanted. But somewhere along the way, you became the guy I always turned to."  
  
He still wouldn't speak, afraid to read anything into her words. Hope had never been a friend to him. He needed to keep some grip on reality, a grip on the anger that was still seething beneath his pain.  
  
"A long time ago you told me there was something between us," she sighed, "Well, you were right. I just always thought it was about the fight, about slaying. I knew I could count on you, I knew we cared about each other. But it was always about responsibility and duty. I never let it be about just me. Just you and me." Then she closed her eyes and traced the lines of his cheekbones reverently, fresh tears sliding over her soft cheeks. He stared at her beauty, trying to fight the flicker of possibility. But he couldn't. What she was saying was going to change things. It was the crumbs he had wanted for so damn long.  
  
"And now?" he asked.  
  
"Now I know what it's like to have you gone," she said quietly, taking a huge breath and dropping her voice even lower, "And the truth is, there isn't much 'me' without 'you' anymore."  
  
Her lashes fluttered open to catch him a swirl of gold and green, and Spike would have sworn on his undead body that his soul did a flip inside him. And it was enough. Those seven words would keep him strong through any pain she could send his way. Those seven words were damn near as good as the three he had always wanted to hear. In some ways they were better. Spike's lips curved in a boyish smile, and he pushed that smile against her neck in a vain effort to hide his ridiculous joy. His lips nuzzled her skin, feeling the sweet pulse of her blood beneath his lips, taunting him.  
  
Her fingers stroked through his hair while his tongue traced tempting lines along her flesh. It was driving him mad to smell and taste the closeness of her blood, but he couldn't seem to force himself to stop. Buffy suddenly pulled him back by his hair to stare into his eyes. She nodded once, her eyes clear and decisive, "Drink from me, Spike" she said.  
  
Her words made hit him like a ball of fire in his groin, igniting tenderness into blazing passion. He groaned, resisting, but failing as the demon took his face.  
  
"No," he said, but the demon stayed on him, "We could never hide that from Angel."  
  
And it was such a bloody wanker thing to say, but he feared his Grandsire. Feared that if he knew, he would take her away, take this away. He was no fool. He might have stood some chance against Angel on his own, but not here, not surrounded by all of Peaches' allies.  
  
He wanted her blood on his tongue so badly that the ache was consuming him. His jeans strained painfully across his hips at the thought, and he knew if she even grazed across him at that moment, he'd lose it like a schoolboy. But he could not drink from her right now. Right now he was too damn desperate to lose her. She was his link to life, to everything. He couldn't move without her, didn't want to.  
  
"I am not his. I am mine. And this is mine to give to you," she said.  
  
Spike's hands began to shake again. He shook his head vehemently, "It'll get you inside of me in a ways I'll never be able to turn from," he warned, but even as he resisted his fangs ached for her skin. He tried to push them back, but couldn't. The smell of her blood and the knowledge of her offer still lingered too strong in the air. He had never been much for willpower.  
  
She nodded, and did the most unexpected thing he could have imagined. Her hands moved to softly caress his ridged forehead. Then her hot fingers slid over his fangs, sending a thousand frissons of heat through his system. A low growl purred at the back of his throat as his now golden eyes pored into her, "Yes," she whispered, "Yes, I hope it will because I'm not ever going to be ready for you to leave me behind again."  
  
Spike returned a stare of wonder, his cool thumbs tracing the line of her jaw. Then he pressed his ridged forehead against hers, exhaling softly as their flesh touched in this most intimate of positions. The Vampire and the Slayer. Torn by a history of hate and lies. Bound by a connection that transcended it all.  
  
"I can't leave you behind, Buffy. Not even when I die."  
  
With those words, he tilted her neck and lowered his lips to drink from her. His fangs pierced her flesh carefully, the small vein he chose pouring slender streams of her blood into his mouth. The rush of sweet fire seared his body. His hands trembled where they held her. One swallow, and he was falling. One ring of her heartbeat pounding into his hungry veins and he knew that nothing in his long life would ever surpass this moment. For as he drank her in, he was tasting life, tasting the very energy of her soul.  
  
His mouth against her neck was like nothing Buffy had ever known. She had been fed from before, but this was different. There was something so powerful about connecting to him in this way. His mouth moved hard and slow against her, making her heart throb in every limb, building heat between her legs with every beat. He whimpered softly like a starving man as he sucked, his fingers pressing and kneading desperately against her waist. It was a strange contradiction to the slow cadence of his mouth. She felt him everywhere. His passion, his recklessness, his laughter, and most of all his love, absolute and overwhelming. And not for Dru, not for anyone else. For her. Only her. It was as if every tiny sound, every tremble in his body screamed her name over and over.  
  
Buffy wanted more, wanted him inside her and through her. Wanted to continue pulsing into him and back until the end of time. She couldn't get enough. There was no fear, no pain. Only pleasure and intimacy. For that moment, something deep and dark within her understood the vampire, understood this need in a way that made her throb all over. She whimpered with him, pulling him closer with every swallow. He could have bled her to death right there and all of her body longed for it.  
  
Spike felt the fluttering in her heart, knew she was weakening just a touch. It was time to stop. And though it was like wrenching himself from heaven, he dragged his mouth away from her neck with a roar. Then he collapsed on her shoulder, panting as if she had been the one feeding on him. But she understood this, somehow. Her strong hands held his shaking body while she made soft noises to soothe him. His tears stained her shirt while his hands knotted in the thin cotton fabric of her shirt.  
  
"I love you," he said, needing to say it, needing her to know he still did. Always did.  
  
"No you don't, but thanks for saying it," she said softly.  
  
He lifted his eyes in human visage, pain carving deep hollows in his beautiful face. Her fingers reached for his jaw and she smiled kindly.  
  
"Or would it be better if I just believed you? Believed you could love me? Believed you meant what you said?" she said.  
  
He nodded slowly, his tongue still tingling from the taste of her blood. And then he understood. The cave. She meant it. He had his answer. A hesitant smile tipped the corners of his sensuous mouth and he caught her in an impulsive kiss.  
  
There were so many questions, still so many things unanswered. But for now it was enough. For now, he just wanted to curl against her warm body and watch her as long as she'd let him. Tomorrow they could try to figure this mess out. For tonight, the chaos was fine.  
  
--END 


End file.
